Tom raised his eyebrows at Kyrie, as she pushed the button on the speaker and Rafiel's voice filled the room. He sounded nervous . . . or perhaps hassled was a better term. "Kyrie?"
"And Tom," Kyrie said. "We're on the speaker."
"Oh? Oh. Good. That saves me telling you stuff twice."
"What stuff?" Tom asked.
"Well . . . this morning, we got a call. At the station. They found . . ."
"Another arm?" Kyrie asked.
"Yes, but in this case, there was a body attached to it. Badly mauled. Aquarium. We're . . . processing it."
"Do you need our help?" Tom asked.
"Processing a body?" Rafiel asked, incredulous.
"No. With . . . anything."
There was a hesitation. Rafiel cleared his throat. "Yeah, but I can't . . ." His car horn sounded. "Did you see the paper, this morning?"
"The squirrel?"
"And the . . . you and the dire wolf."
"And?" Tom asked impatiently, waiting—fearing—what would come next but needing to hear it because until he heard, it was always worse than he thought. Until he heard it, he would think he'd been found, he'd been recognized, he'd been . . .
"And this morning, when we were called in, there were already reporters in the parking lot. From the Weekly Inquirer. They were looking for fur or scales, or who knows what. But they got hold of the murder, right at the beginning. And considering, they seem really interested . . . you know, the thing is the Weekly Inquirer was bought recently?" He seemed to wait for them to comment and when all that Kyrie and Tom did was exchange a look, he clicked his tongue. "The Weekly Inquirer was bought by Covert Corp."
"Covert what?"
"The corp. thing is sort of misleading. I mean, they are a corporation. But they are a family company. They own several magazines. Crosswords, mystery. But the most important property, the one they started with, is called Unknown. It's a magazine of cryptozoology."
"Crypto what?"
"Animals that aren't supposed to exist, or animals that aren't supposed to be there. Dragons and . . . that."
"Oh. But if they own many companies . . . What could it mean for the WI in particular?"
"The patriarch of the clan, Lawrence Stoneman . . . He's very hands-on, you could say. He seems to keep one of his kids in charge of each place the corp buys. His daughter, Miranda, is in charge of the Weekly Inquirer. And she grew up on cryptozoology. I think their interest in the murder is secondary, frankly, as opposed to what interesting animals they might find lurking around. In other words . . ." Rafiel hesitated.
"We can none of us afford to be obvious?" Kyrie said.
"With a maniac stalking us, and a second murder at the aquarium—where there are two, maybe three shifters running around?" Tom said.
"Exactly. So, yes, I do want your help, but I do need to be more careful about getting that help than I've been. I'll come in if I can, tonight. Meanwhile, if you must shift, be careful where you do it, and who might see you. More careful than normal, that is."
"Right," Tom said. And sensing Rafiel was about to hang up, he added, "Oh, do you have any relatives who could fix our bathroom?" And in response to a scowl from Kyrie, he added, "Not for free. We'll pay. I'd just like to get someone who can start right away, so we can move back home soon, and who won't ask . . . awkward questions." This brought up his deep-seated envy of Rafiel, who not only hadn't lost his family over his shifting nature, but whose family stood ranked behind him, solid, bolstering and protecting him.
Tom had been told that Rafiel's parents knew he was a shifter. This explained—or at least Rafiel thought it did—why Rafiel still lived at home. Tom didn't know how many other members of the extended family knew about it, and he was afraid to ask. In a world where the lack of safety of a shifter meant revealing the existence of them all, he didn't want to learn of the possible issues with Rafiel's security. Rafiel's family seemed to have done well enough with the secret so far, and Tom, who had no personal knowledge of how real families behaved, would not judge.
"Oh," Rafiel said. "I see. Yes, we have plumbers in the family, and one of my uncles can probably do the drywalling stuff or tile or whatever." There was a silence that gave the impression he was trying to think things out. "Yeah, it will do very well. It will give me an excuse to come by the diner later this evening. We'll just have to be careful there."
Rafiel disconnected, and Tom limped towards the shower to wash. He and Kyrie needed to eat something, and one of them should probably go in early to relieve Anthony. Normally, they should have had three shifts. They hadn't, mostly because Tom hadn't had time to even think of hiring a third manager, much less one who was practiced in using the complex new stoves. But they couldn't ask Anthony to do a twelve-hour shift, not when he was newly wed, anyway, so Tom would go in early. He grabbed a change of clothes and headed towards the bathroom, Not Dinner happily winding in and out between his ankles. "I wonder if that Laura person who was supposed to come for an interview yesterday will show up today. Do you think they've cleared the roads enough for traffic?"
Kyrie giggled, and as Tom stared, she said, "I'm sorry, but with everything going on, it's so much like you to be worried about the diner, and getting another manager/cook for the diner."
Tom grinned, seeing her point, but shrugged. "Well, Kyrie, look at it this way—if we survive this, then we'll need the diner in good shape, particularly considering the repairs to the bathroom. And if we don't survive, the fact that I was worried about running the diner won't make a bit of difference."